Murder House
by superguy
Summary: The Harmon's move into a historic mansion in California unaware that other inhabitants already reside on the premises.
1. Prologue

**Murder House**

by _superguy_

Prologue:

TATE

I don't remember much about the time in-between. Not sure there's a technical term for it; the time between being shot and, I guess, my new consciousness. I'm not even sure how long I was out of it. All there is for me is blackness.

Do I remember what I did? Sure. Executing those classmates is one of my fondest memories. I consider them something of a collection. Each one was unique, pristine, the image of perfection according to any angst-ridden teen drama on television. I _had_ to kill them, you know? I was saving them from what they were doomed to become. Because, let's face it, it's all downhill after high school.

I thought it would be the same for me. But then something miraculous happened.

I woke up.

It was all just a dream. It had to be, right? The familiar, sickening faces were all gone, dissolved into a blank mist. But one constant remained: the house.

I was glad for that. Truly, I was. This house is my sanctuary. In the end I never wanted to leave it. Now I don't have to. Maybe, perhaps, it isn't possible for me to. Some would call that heaven.

Except there's a problem.

People have been trying to take over my little piece of heaven. First it was those homos. Now it's a doctor and his family. I would say I want them out forever, but that would be lying.

You see, there are three people I need to keep with me here forever. One is Violet, Dr. Harmon's daughter. The other two aren't even born yet. One of them is my own offspring, whatever form it takes. The other is Dr. Harmon's baby, and I'm saving that one for Hayden. Soon it will all be secure. I know it will.

Because I'm strong. I will keep them here by force if I have to.

Then everyone will be happy.

I know they will be.


	2. The Hole In The Wall

Chapter One:

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

"Where did it happen?"

Violet looked up at Marcy, the mousy real estate agent touring her family through the salmon colored mansion. And it _was_ a mansion, by all means. The house towered skyward with three floors, an attic, a dining room that was supposedly imported from an Irish pub, and the largest basement she'd ever laid eyes on. Those details alone, coupled with the Gothic design of the interior, were enough to make any sane person fall head over heels for the property.

But not Violet Harmon. No, Violet wasn't a fan of prim and proper. Nor was she a fan of Martha Stewart or any of those home decorator types (of which she got the unmistakable feeling that Marcy was an unabashed imitator). Absolutely not, this house was just another horrible, precocious knock off, the same as all the rest on this street.

The same, that is, until Marcy let slip that the previous owners both died on the property.

"It happened in the basement," Marcy said. She looked very uneasy, perhaps spooked. "It was a murder-suicide. I guess you just never know."

That was the nail in the coffin for Violet. No more was there hesitation, no second thoughts. Her parents _had_ to buy this house. There was no debate. And it was _cheap!_

Marcy suggested a mid-century colonial down the street.

_Mid-century colonial?_ Please. Her family needed to own this place!

"Buy it," she told her parents. "It's perfect. You always wanted a big house, right?"

Vivien Harmon, her mother, held their tiny dog in her arms and looked around the kitchen where they were now congregated. She was dressed a little too nice for house shopping, Violet thought. But then again, this was her mother.

"It certainly is big. Murdered, you said?" Vivien looked to Marcy.

"And suicide, yes. It was a real tragedy. The neighborhood's still trying to recover from it."

"But that's Hollywood for you, right?" Ben Harmon removed his sunglasses. "Love and hate. All that shit. I see it every day."

Marcy gave him a confused glance, and he stopped.

"I'm a psychiatrist," he clarified. "I'm hoping to start a practice here in one of the spare lounges so I can be closer to my family."

"How refreshing," Marcy said. "You barely see that kind of devotion anymore."

Violet was done with the chitchat. Were they going to make a decision or just stand around shooting the shit? She wanted to explore the house more, so walked away from the group. Nobody noticed. No surprise there.

The chestnut-paneled hallway led all the way down the length of the house. She peered in rooms when the doors were open. Most were filled with old furniture, nearly all of the pieces either falling apart or covered with dusty off-white sheets. At the end of the hall was a sweeping staircase, the kind that you'd see Clark Gable using at parties, and she was back where they came in from the side. She liked this part of the house the best so far, mostly because it was quiet and open. She despised closed spaces. She supposed that was why most of her time was spent outdoors or in her room, which was always the most spacious bedroom in the house. She also needed the most space for all her clothes. That was another reason.

On the second floor she was pleased to find very large rooms. A bathroom complete with a claw-foot bathtub was perfect for those long-baths after school. Another few rooms down and there it was, the room that would be her bedroom.

It was dark and cold. Those were pre-requisites. She wore a lot of black, and this room was as black as this house got (as far as she'd seen). On top of that there was enough space that she wouldn't feel cramped.

Suddenly she felt the presence of someone behind her. She knew this because the hair on the back of her neck and arms stood up and the pitch of the silence changed. There was definitely someone in the room behind her.

She turned and saw a boy a little taller than her with dirty blond hair standing near the doorway. His eyes were sunken in with dark patches beneath and his skin was pale. There was no color difference between the skin of his cheeks and his lips. He looked freezing.

Before she could ask any questions, the boy spoke.

"Hey. I didn't know anyone was here."

Violet stood back.

"Who are you?" she asked.

The boy grinned and looked to the side, doing a sort of shrug.

"I'm Tate," he said. "My family lives down the street. I didn't mean to scare you."

"So, you just hang around abandoned houses?" Violet asked.

"You don't have to make it sound _that _creepy," he smirked. "No, I used to live here."

"Oh."

There was something about this boy. She didn't know quite what it was that intrigued her. He gave off an air of friendliness, a welcoming feeling.

"You like this room?" Tate asked. He walked into the room and stood by the window.

"Yeah. It's nice. Big. That's what I want, really."

"Nice. This used to be my room."

Suddenly Violet heard the sound of her parents coming down the hallway, led by Marcy who continued to tell them insignificant facts about the house.

"The tiffany glass is all original..."

She turned to the doorway to see her mother pausing out in the hall.

"Well, this is a nice room," Vivien said. She took a few steps inside. "What are you doing up here, Vie?"

Violet started to say that she was talking to Tate, but when she turned back to the window there was nobody there. She was completely alone in the room.

That was weird.

"Uh...nothing," she said, trying to shrug off the feeling of creepiness running across her skin.

"Alright," Ben said, coming to stand beside Vivien. "What do you think?" he turned to his wife.

"I guess we've made our decision," Vivien said in her usual, questioning tone, even though it wasn't a question so much as a statement. She turned to Violet and smiled. "We're buying the house!"

As the family went back downstairs to fill out the necessary paperwork, Tate was watching. He stood behind the far wall where there was a crawl space. It was something only he knew about, all the passages that allowed him to get around the house quickly and unannounced.

Yes, it was going to be a fun little hobby watching Violet whenever he liked. That's what the eye-sized hole in the wallpaper was for.


	3. Clientele

Chapter Two:

CLIENTELE

Ben Harmon was pulling a fast one. Truly, he was. As far as his wife and daughter were concerned, he was the biggest hero they'd ever known. Who else would buy them their dream house, complete with one of the largest yards you could find in Los Angeles, and do it with a smile, no less?

But the big twist was that he bought the house with only his own gains in mind. Sure, Vivien was enthusiastic about all the space and decorating opportunities, and Violet...well, she was hard to read even for someone in his profession, but she at least liked her new bedroom. That was a big improvement from the months of her not speaking to him or eating at the dinner table with the family. He couldn't remember the last time the three of them sat down and actually had a civilized meal. But there they were the first night in the new house, sitting in the dining room, surrounded by boxes with sharpie all over, having conversation as if nothing had ever happened.

What were all the selfish reasons he'd bought the house?

The first one was simple. A house of this size carried a lot of equity. He'd paid 95k for the place, but he could easily double, maybe even triple that amount when the place sold in two years or so. He'd completely resigned to the fact that people weren't exactly lining up for psych appointments lately. Within the past six months he'd seen three regular patients, and that barely paid all his bills. He found himself doing odd jobs here and there just to even out their savings account and put the type of food that Vivien required on the table, or TV trays. However they ate their meals that evening.

Secondly, he could save money by having his practice in the house itself. Renting an office in the city would cost an arm and a leg, and perhaps a few other choice appendages. Vivien thought the move was his way of spending more time with the family, and Ben was glad it was turning out that way. But he was really working from home to put a little more money in his pocket. He wasn't sure what he was going to spend the extra on, but when the time came, it was going to be a great purchase. Something he could really enjoy.

All these things floated through his mind as he put the finishing touches on his new office. The room was on the first floor near the back of the house. Vivien helped him choose the space, and he was pleased with it. His desk fit perfectly in the corner, and there was plenty of room for the two couches. One was his. In between was a nice coffee table where he could rest his notes and digital recorder, and on the other side was a nice leather lounge for his patients. Unfortunately he hadn't broken even on the purchase of the furniture yet. Those were part of his pre-move purchase when he was still renting that horrible little room above the pizza place.

Now the easy part was over. Everything was in place. The hard part would be finding the clientele. Hopefully with all the acting failures in this city he would be living like a king soon enough. He just had to get his name out there first.

Suddenly he felt a cold breeze against the back of his neck. It sent an involuntary shiver up his spine and he turned around. Was the window open or something? He walked over to the large windows peeking from behind long drapes and was surprised to see that they were all shut and locked tight.

Odd. Where did the breeze come from? He didn't have a fan in here either...

The doorbell rang and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

_Guess that's what happens when you creep yourself out like that_, he thought.

The doorbell rang again.

He walked to the office doorway.

"Viv?" he called down the hallway. There was no answer. He tried again. "Viv, there's someone at the door!"

Silence.

"Vivien!"

There was absolutely no noise from anywhere. He thought Vivien was tinkering around the house, but maybe she went outside or something. Violet was at school, of course, but Vivien didn't have a job. Her job was to fix up the house, and apparently she was taking a break from the interior.

He hurried down the hallway, wiping the sweat from his brow, and opened the heavy front door.

Standing on his front porch was an older woman with short, curly hair wearing an outfit that would be at home in the '70s. All purple, a modest skirt with accompanying jacket and blouse. She gave off a vibe of the "old crowd" and her makeup was desperately trying to hide the crow's feet and smile lines scattered across her face. She smiled at him.

"Dr. Ben Harmon?"

He nodded.

"Yes, that's me. Can I help you?"

"I certainly hope so," the woman brought a hand up to her chest in a Southern expression and took a step towards him. "Forgive me, I'm Constance Langdon. I heard about you from your ad online. I live just across the hedge." She pointed to the home next door.

"Is that right? Well, it's very nice to meet you, but I don't really have time for small talk. I'm actually preparing my new office -"

"Oh, that's why I've come," Constance said, reaching out and touching his arm lightly. "I've heard that you're the best around, and I will be quite honest with you, I am at the end of my rope. Truly."

Ben blinked. "You're in need of my services?"

"Indeed. Well, not me personally. I'm here for my son, Tate."

"Tate," Ben nodded, trying to keep a mental note. It would be good to impress, especially if this was going to be his first customer. They liked it when you remembered the small details. He didn't have a notebook on him, so that would be a little trickier than normal. "What's troubling him, if I can be up front? Normally I wait for paperwork to be filled out before I ask, but I'm just curious." That was another hook. People liked it when you acted interested. If he played his cards right he'd have this woman signing a contract and word of mouth spreading like wildfire.

"Sweet boy, my Tate. He's my little angel, really. He's just...heading in the wrong direction, I think, is the way I'd put it."

Constance looked very pained, as if she were thinking of some memory where her son lashed out. Ben saw this look often. She was the unappreciated mother. Either that or an overly meddling mother. If he had to guess he would say she was the latter.

"I guess you would say he's full of angst. Perhaps even some disdain for other children his age." Her fingers were fanned out across the nape of her neck and he spotted a large ring that glinted in the sunlight. "Do you mind if I come inside?"

"Oh, yes," Ben stepped aside. "Of course. Make yourself at home."

"That won't be hard," Constance walked into the house and started immediately in the direction of the dining room. "I lived here many years ago. This was my passion project. Now I guess it's yours."

Ben got two glasses and filled them with iced tea from the fridge. Constance took a seat at the table and he sat opposite her.

"I really don't know what you need me to tell you, without paperwork made up," Constance said. "To be quite honest, this is the first time I've ever approached someone of your...profession. Up until now I considered my efforts at parenting to be sufficient. My children had a beautiful home and anything they wanted. What more could they ask for? My love? They certainly never had to ask for that. I am very loving."

She paused, brought the glass up to her mouth, but didn't take a sip. Just held it there, looking off somewhere.

"Is Tate your only child?" Ben asked.

"Oh no. I have another at home, Addy. She's a little challenged, but she's powering through it, thank God. I teach her from home. It saves her from the torment of other children her age. Tate is the middle child, and I have an older boy besides. So, he can't say he hasn't had examples to follow. There was certainly plenty of time for him to learn from his brother. He just chose not to, I suppose. Are most teenagers like that?"

"What, you mean rebels?"

Constance nodded.

"Well, they all go through that streak," he said. "If they don't, then you're an incredibly lucky parent."

"That's what I thought." She leaned over the table slightly and made direct eye contact with him. "Would you agree to take his case?"

Ben was caught off guard. This woman had to be the most up-front person he'd met in his profession. Normally people would keep things to themselves, which totally defeated the purpose of having a shrink. But hey, he wasn't going to complain. As long as she could pay, he'd do what he could. Give it his best shot.

"I'd have to meet your son first," he answered. "Since he'd be the actual patient. It's all up to him. If he's comfortable with me, then I'll certainly give it a shot. I don't promise anything, but I've rarely seen someone get worse after I treat them."

"That is such a comfort, Dr. Harmon. You don't know how much I appreciate it."

"There is the subject of payment," he started to say, but Constance cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"Don't worry about that. I have plenty of money. Whatever it costs, nothing's too much for my angel. He needs to get better again, Dr. Harmon. He hasn't been the same, if you get my meaning. It's like he's a totally different person. You have to change him back. You must, do you understand?"

Ben swallowed and got to his feet along with Constance.

"Like I said, I'll do my best."

"Good. Thank-you, Dr. Harmon."

He led her out to the front porch. She turned to him.

"I'll send Tate over tomorrow at some point during the day. You'll be available, I assume?"

He nodded.

"Send him over whenever. I'll be prepared."

"Excellent. I can't thank you enough, Dr. Harmon. It's been a long road with this one. You think you know what to do as the parent, but then you face the cold reality that you're just as scared of the world as your kids are. It will be nice to know that I'm not facing this daunting task on my own anymore."

Ben wasn't sure what to say, so he simply nodded.

"Anyway, good afternoon, Dr. Harmon."

And with that, Constance hurried down the stone steps and was off beyond the hedges.

Ben just stood there with the door open for a minute or two, trying to process what had just happened. The entire exchange took no more than ten minutes, yet in that amount of time Constance had managed to invite herself in, have tea, and seal a deal (so to speak). The woman was talented, Ben would give her that. It wouldn't hurt to give her son a shot. Didn't every teenager deserve that kind of chance? He liked to think so.

With a half-smile on his face he closed the door behind him and went back to organizing his office.


	4. Sleepwalking

Chapter Three:

SLEEPWALKING

The last thing Vivien remembered in the real world was falling asleep in her new room with all the curtains drawn and a tiny night-light plugged into the far wall (she'd always had one, ever since she was a child - it was comforting). The last thing she remembered in the dream world was eating ice cream on the deck of a large ship, watching the waves roll back and forth with people dancing on them like some sort of collection of ice skaters.

Then she opened her eyes and that dizzy feeling of just waking up washed over her. She was awake now. But she wasn't in her bed any more. She wasn't even in her room any more. There was no more night-light. There was no more anything.

She was standing in a room she'd never seen, one with horrible vine-painted wallpaper. It was a modest sized room, but there was absolutely nothing in it aside from a white tablecloth draped over a figure-like shape.

Where was she?

It was still night so it was difficult to see. She reached her hands out, trembling now at the sense of disorientation, and groped for some sort of light switch. She found one and flicked it on. A light filled the room, thank goodness, and she took another look around.

This had to be a room in the house somewhere, but she had no idea how she'd come to this place. Walked, obviously, but where was this room situated in the scheme of the house?

There was a window so she walked over to it and looked out. She must be on the top floor because the ground looked so far down. She could see the light of her neighbor, Constance's, house thirty feet away, so she was on the far side of the mansion.

"Scary," she said, and turned to the door behind her. It had been many years since she sleepwalked. Usually it plagued her when she experienced a large portion of stress, and it made sense that it would start happening now.

She hated her husband.

He knew it. He _had_ to know it. If not then he was denser than she realized. Didn't he hear her get up in the middle of the night? Wasn't he concerned?

She reached for the doorknob, a rusty, grooved thing, and gave it a yank. Nothing happened. Again she tried. Still the thing wouldn't budge. The door was locked. Either that or the wood had somehow swelled so that it made the thing stick fast.

A horrible, squeamish feeling crept into her stomach. She had a deep-seated fear of enclosed spaces - being confined. There was no way out except for the window.

How did she even get in here? If the door was so tricky there must have been some sort of struggle for her to get into this room.

And it was so bizarre that she'd never seen this space before!

She tried the door one last time and when that did nothing she resorted to pounding on the thing with her fists.

"Hello!" she hollered. Her voice echoed off the walls in a very tinny way. "Hello? Ben? Ben, I'm stuck!"

Silence. Then -

"Can anyone hear me? Violet?"

She stomped on the floor. Maybe she was above Violet's room and her daughter would hear and come to her rescue. But even as she paused there was no movement beneath the floorboards.

Then she heard something behind her. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she reached around to rub the feeling away. When she turned, there was nothing there. She was still alone as far as she could see. But that unmistakable feeling of being watched remained.

That was it. If no one was going to help her, she was going to get back to her room on her own.

She opened the window and stepped out onto the ledge.

Dammit! Why did she have to sleepwalk _now?_ This entire situation was the last thing she needed.

Off to the right was a ladder of latticework. Hopefully it was strong enough to hold her weight until she made it to the ground. If not..

She looked down and immediately suffered from vertigo. Why did she have to be so high up?

One step down.

So far so good. Easy does it...

Two steps down. She got low enough that she was resting her entire weight on the lattice. A cold breeze tugged at her nightgown and she rested her forehead against the wood and tried to swallow the nauseous feeling in her stomach. It gradually subsided.

After what felt like a lifetime she finally rested her bare feet on the dew-soaked grass and shivered.

"I'm never doing that again," she muttered to herself.

She glanced up at the window from where she came and stumbled back at what she saw.

A figure! A dark, leather-covered figure was leaning out the window staring at her! Just staring!

She turned to hurry into the house when two arms wrapped around her. She screamed.

"Viv! Viv - it's me!"

Ben stood before her and she nearly collapsed into his arms.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked.

"A man!" she pointed up at the window. "There was a man up there in that window watching me!"

Ben looked up.

"Viv, what are you talking about?" he said. "The window's shut and locked."

"What?"

He was right. The window was shut and there was no figure.

"You were sleepwalking again," Ben said. "Come on. Let's go back to bed."

He led her by the hand like a child. She hated that. Back up the stone steps, through the house, and back into their master bedroom. She didn't think that there was any possibility of sleep after what she just experienced.

Back in bed Ben put an arm around her and she pushed it away. He sighed and rolled over to the opposite side of the bed.

"Tomorrow I'll put a new lock on the bedroom doors," he said. "It will be safer that way."

"Sure, Ben," she said.

His breathing quickly slowed to that rhythmic sleep cycle and she was left awake, staring at the ceiling.

"Sure it will," she said to herself.

She spent the rest of the night imagining the man in the rubber suit reaching through the ceiling at her.


	5. Sick and Twisted

Chapter Four:

SICK AND TWISTED

"So, what are your thoughts on death, Dr. Harmon?"

Violet stood just outside the doorway of her father's new office and listened to the conversation inside. Normally she did this kind of snooping when she was extremely bored - her iPod ran out of music, her dog stopped being cute, whatever the reason. But this time her motives were more precise.

Ben was having his first session with the blond-haired boy she'd found in her room on the tour of the mansion. She'd only spoken with him once, but just at the sound of his voice she could see his face perfectly in her mind: his thick, dirty hair like a tangled frame around those sunken brown eyes. They were the only part of him that seemed to have any color since his skin was pale as flour, even his lips held no color at all. Violet didn't know what it was exactly, but she found Tate fascinating. Maybe he was like her, a lost soul in the wind. Or maybe he was something else entirely.

"Well, that's a strange question to ask," Ben said. Violet heard the rustling of paper. It sounded like Ben was tapping his pen on the coffee table as well. Always a multi-tasker, her father. He couldn't focus on one thing at a time and it drove Violet nuts. "Why would you bring something like death into this conversation?"

"Well," Tate said. He paused in between words as if her were truly thinking about his response. "Death has been on my mind for a long time now. It makes a lot of sense, really. You know I lost my oldest brother?"

The sound of creaking leather. Her father must be sitting back.

"No, I didn't know that," he said. "I'm very sorry to hear it. You said it was your older brother?"

"Older, yes. His name was Beau," Tate said. "Does that matter?"

"Certainly. If it's an older sibling you would feel a different category of sorrow than if it were a younger sibling who looked up to you. Do you get what I'm saying?"

"Not really."

"What I mean is, let's say you have a younger sister. She looks up to you, she thinks you're the whole world. Normally, you'd feel responsible for her, whether something good or something bad happens to her, it's partially your fault regardless because you're the one who's looking after her well-being. If she dies, then you'll feel like you failed her. Now, turn the tables, if it were an older sibling, sure, it would be a loss, but you wouldn't see the death as your fault - as a short-coming. See what I mean?"

"Interesting," Tate said.

"So, let me ask you this. Why do you bring up death?"

Violet took this moment to lean around the door frame, hoping to catch a glimpse of the boy unawares. As she leaned around her eyes found that he was staring straight at the doorway, as if Tate was waiting for her to move. She jumped and pulled back around the corner, but not fast enough to catch Tate's faint smile.

Ben must have looked over his shoulder to see what caught Tate's attention and, finding nothing, returned to the conversation.

"Do you know why you brought that up?" he asked again.

"I brought it up because I have these thoughts," Tate said. "Really terrible thoughts. Fears, even. Things that make it so I can't fall asleep at night. I have to keep all my lights on because I'm afraid that these ideas will overtake me somehow. They will make me want to kill. Because, honestly doctor, I don't know how else I can stop these images from playing over and over in my mind."

Violet's heart was beating so hard she could hear it in her ears. This kid was off the wall, ape-shit crazy! Usually the people her father treated were just mild hypochondriacs, but this was a different monster entirely. It was kind of attractive, she had to admit.

"Wait a minute, kill?" Ben asked. "Do you mean kill others?"

"Yes, Dr. Harmon. It's the only way for them to stop ruining everything in my life that is good. They just take, and take until there's nothing left for me. You've met my mother, yes?"

"Of course. She's the one who scheduled this appointment."

Tate swallowed. "And what was your impression of her?"

"I can't really say," Ben said. Of course he couldn't make judgments of people he wasn't treating. It was some unwritten code, Violet remembered. Ben mentioned it during some dinner speech around Christmas last year. Right before her mother caught him sleeping with one of his students. That was a great gift. It made for an unforgettable holiday season.

"Then _I'll_ tell you what your first impression was," Tate went on. "She seemed like a genuinely concerned woman, maybe a little fragile. She's on her last leg. That part is true, this isn't the first time she's tried to get me help. I can give you lists of other whack jobs who've seen me. They really didn't do much to help, as you can see. She gave me to you, the petty next-door doctor. Tell me this - what do you have to offer me that the other brain analysts don't?"

"Every doctor is different, Tate, but let me assure you that what you have is treatable. I can absolutely promise you that. There is nothing that is untreatable in this field."

"Oh, _promises?_" Tate sounded amused. "That's new. That's one I haven't heard before. The last doctor tried to get Constance to send me to some mental institute in Florida, but she didn't have the money, so I was stuck under house arrest for a few months. Hence why I haven't been in school lately."

"A mental institute is the last place I want you to end up, Tate," Ben said. "I will work with you. In a couple weeks you'll see an improvement. I promise you that. Just give it some time and you'll really be coming along. But it's not all up to me, you understand. It's a team effort. If you don't want to change, then you won't. It's as simple as that. But if you really try to redeem yourself, and admit that you need the help, and you're willing to see a change, then it will all come together." This was the part where her father did his routine first-session-finale of tapping his temple with his forefinger. "It's all in your head, all right?"

Tate sighed.

"All right," he said.

There was the sound of shuffling furniture, and that was Violet's cue to make a get-away. She hurried down the hall a few doors and slipped inside one of the vacant rooms, just out of sight.

"I'll schedule another session the same time and day next week. Does that work for you?" Ben asked. Tate followed him out of the office and down the hallway. As they passed Violet's hiding spot she heard something hit the floor, a light tap, almost lost among the sound of their footfalls down the hallway.

"That sounds perfect, Dr. Harmon," Tate said once they reached the door.

"All right. I'll see you then," Ben finished, and with that, Tate was out the door and Ben was off to the living room where he'd wrap up all his notes and recordings before calling it a day.

Violet stood frozen in her hiding spot a few seconds longer just in case her father came by the doorway again. Once she was sure the coast was clear, she went to hurry towards the stairs, but something on the floor stopped her in her tracks.

On the hardwood of the hallway was a small square of paper folded like origami. That must have been what she heard hitting the floor. She picked it up and unfolded the off-white paper to reveal a hastily scribbled note.

_Curious? Meet me out back at 7p.m. -Tate_.

Well, that was interesting. So he _did_ know that she was listening! What a bizarre session. It was definitely the most interesting one she'd ever eavesdropped.

Now it seemed she had plans for the evening. It wasn't like she'd be doing anything exciting anyway. Just preparing for her new school classes and other crap like that. Either way, Tate was way more interesting than any homework. Hopefully there was a lot more to discover about this kindred spirit. His imagination could at least entertain her for a few hours.

She left the room and hurried down the hallway to the stairs like she originally intended.

If she had turned back around she would have seen Tate standing by the window of the empty room, watching her just as she had watched him only minutes before.


	6. The Hired Help

Chapter Five:

THE HIRED HELP

Moira quietly observed. It was what she was good at - watching everyone move about the house. Nobody suspected that she was there. _Or they just don't even notice that I exist_, she thought to herself with the flick of a dark-red lock of her hair. People rarely noticed her for decades.

That was about to change.

She had a talent that had been fermenting these many years, and she was about to test it out. It hadn't exactly worked on the homos from 2010 (those two were hopeless, only focusing on each other) but now, with Ben and Vivien, she might be able to work some magic. It was a stretch, but somehow she'd managed to change her appearance depending on who she was in front of. If it was a woman, they would see her as an old maid, but if it was a man, he would see her as a very attractive servant. Maybe she could use this power to guide someone to find her body. Now _that_ was what she really wanted more than anything else.

For some unexplainable reason, Moira had been locked in the mansion since the summer of 1983. She was a maid for the Langdons then. It was a dream job, really easy. All she did was clean up the place (it wasn't much besides dusting) and run a few odd errands for Constance. Yet, it wasn't long before the "faithful husband" seduced her and all hell broke loose. Of course she couldn't keep it a secret for long. Constance found out one afternoon, and being shot in the right eye was the last thing Moira remembered of her life.

Now, after lying dormant for a time, she was coming out of hiding. This family could be her last chance - the key to justice. She just had to be subtle, to not get caught. It would be tough with her track record, but she truly thought she had a chance. And so, she moved forward.

The Langdon boy, Tate, was roaming the house. She watched him. He walked from the side porch entrance down the cut stone driveway all the way to the outskirts of the paramagnetic field. For a second she thought he was going to try to make a run for it. All the spirits of the house had watched him do it countless times before. But this time he didn't run. This time he slowed down by the trashcans and Moira watched as he reached inside one of them and lifted something black and shiny up out of the waste.

_Well,_ she thought with a smile. _How very, very odd. _If she didn't know any better, she'd say that he was taking that hideous dominatrix sex suit back into the house. And all this after Dr. Harmon went through the trouble of yanking that perverted piece of art out of the attic and throwing it away. What did Tate want with the piece of trash, she wondered?

She followed him.

He seemed unsuspecting as he made his way through the den, down the first floor hall and past the stained glass windows until he came to the master bath. There she watched as he stripped, taking off his striped sweater and dirty jeans, all the way down to his boxers. Even these he quickly shed and Moira found she was appalled by how white his skin was. True, they were dead, but still it looked like he never left the darkness of the house.

It looked like it was difficult, and it took a few tries, but before long, Tate was wearing the rubber suit.

"Don't you look like you're ready to cause some trouble?"

Tate jumped and turned towards her as she strode into the bathroom. Once he saw that it was she, his expression turned to one of hatred.

"You were watching me?" He looked away, embarrassed. "That's pretty sick, you know that?"

"Sick?" she said, making sure to use her low-cut uniform to the fullest extent. "I don't know about that. Can you blame me? You just get me so hot and bothered, I sometimes can't help myself."

She was so close to him now she could hear his heart beating. Of course, it wasn't really a live heart. Death had some strange surprises. Things she never expected to hear again still continued to go on, like a heartbeat, long after the heart stopped beating in reality. It seemed to be some sort of safety mechanism, trying to assure that the ones who found out that they were dead suddenly wouldn't go completely insane and wreak more havoc on their afterlife prisons.

"Cut the shit," Tate said. "I know what you're trying to do."

"And I don't know what _you're_ trying to do," she said, dropping the act a tad. She'd tried this before with Tate and the results weren't the greatest. "Dr. Harmon threw that thing away. What are you doing with it?"

For a second she didn't think that he was going to answer. He just stared at her in that pissed-off way, his eyes unblinking. Then, he surprised her.

"This is the only way it will work."

"What do you mean?" she said.

He shifted his stance.

"Have you ever tried having sex with a living person?"

She blinked.

"Of course I have," she said. "You remember what happened with your father -"

"I'm not talking about that," he said. "I mean after you were dead. Did you ever seduce someone who was living?"

"No. I don't think that's possible." She slipped back into her act. "Then again, why are you worrying about that? I have all the things you could ever want for a good time."

"I need to make a baby," he said.

She was floored. Her brow furrowed.

"What do you mean, you need to make a baby? Aren't you a little young to be fathering a child?"

"Nora," he said, "she wants one. She lost hers, as I'm sure you know. I don't really blame her for trying to abort the little shit. After dying once, he sure because a hell of a mess." He closed his eyes and a pained expression came over his face. "I need to do this for her. I have to try. It's the only chance I've got. I don't even know if I can physically do anything -"

"You _can't_ physically do anything. You're only a spirit, the essence of someone who was once a living and breathing human being. What you're trying to do is outrageous. Who would willingly have sex with you in this house anyway? Certainly not Violet."

A flicker of loathing crossed Tate's face at the mention of the girl's name.

"Don't mention her to me again," he said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, struck a nerve?" she smiled. "Nice to see you do feel something like the rest of us."

He looked like he was done with the conversation and grabbed the mask, pulling it over his mangy blond hair. Before he zipped it up completely he stopped by the doorway, turned to her, and said, "Who said anything about consent?"

And with that he zipped the mask up and stalked out of the room.

A pang of fear gripped Moira. She hadn't felt this sense of urgency in years. Whatever the boy was up to, it would come to no good. Hurrying, she followed the sounds of his footsteps up the stairs and down the second floor hall until she found him walking into Vivien's room.

This time she made herself invisible not only to Mrs. Harmon, but to Tate as well. It was good that she did because if he thought she was perverted before, he would definitely believe she was even more so if he saw that she was watching him as he lay on top of Vivien.

She was intrigued. Her fear turned to fascination as she watched something she didn't think was possible. Tate was having relations with Mrs. Harmon, who was very much alive. There it was, plain and simple.

There was nothing arousing about it. On the contrary, the entire ordeal didn't take more than a few minutes. _No wonder, he's waited so long to be able to try this,_ Moira thought as she twisted some of her hair around her fingers. She had to look away as he finished, got up and sauntered from the bedroom.

"What a little shit," she said to herself. "What a conniving, disgusting little shit."

If that was how the boy was going to play, (and it seemed he didn't have reservations any longer - killing someone was one thing, but actually trying to conceive with them? Even _she_ had standards), then she was going to have to step up her game considerably. There was only one thing left to do.

She was going to make her first move on Dr. Harmon. He was going to find her body if she had to spell it out for him. And it appeared the only way to get to this family was through the bedroom.

_Wonderful,_ she thought as she watched Ben and Vivien drift off to sleep together. _The bedroom is my specialty_.


	7. Heart of the Matter

Chapter Six:

HEART OF THE MATTER

Tate knew where each of the three Harmons were at all times within the mansion. As far as the mansion's other...inhabitants, well, he could never be sure. They came and went as the pleased. He supposed it was a spirit's only luxury that they could make themselves undetectable, even to fellow spirits. After all, to give up eating and sleeping - hell, he'd even give up an arm just to take a shit again. Alas, there were no luxuries other than invisibility.

Even having sex with Vivien, he hardly felt anything remotely resembling pleasure. It was all business, nothing more. He didn't have a body, though he did have the ability to make himself solid enough to move things. That included human flesh. The whole impregnation thing was something he still didn't completely understand. How did it all work? He just wasn't sure. To be honest, he skipped the majority of his biology classes when he was in high school, so he couldn't even make assumptions based on schooling. The short answer was this: Somehow, by some ungodly miracle, he just _knew_ the baby would stick. Even if Tate was dead, he still had intuition. In fact, he was surprised nobody else in the house had ever tried to sleep with a living inhabitant. Come to think of it, now that he'd tried that and seen the results, he wasn't sure he'd ever want to do it again.

He watched Violet slip out of her bed still fully clothed. What was the point of disguising herself in pajamas, Tate thought, if her parents didn't even check on her? She pulled on a light jacket and crept down the main staircase.

It was only a matter of moments before she was at the back door, peeking out onto the porch to see if the coast was clear.

"It's okay," he said as he stepped out of the shadows. "There's no one else out here."

"Wasn't sure if you were just lying about meeting up," Violet said. She leaned against the wall and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. After one was between her lips she glanced up at him and held out the box.

"No, thanks," he grinned. "I don't smoke cigs."

She raised her eyebrows a little as she lit up, drew in a long breath and let the smoke flow from her nostrils like some sort of dragon. If Tate had a heart it would have raced at the sight of the girl.

"Not cigs?" she teased. "Other stuff?"

He simply smiled.

"I'm the bad guy," he said.

"Ooh. Paint me intrigued."

She moved closer to him and it sent terror into the pit of his stomach for a moment. Thankfully it was a relatively cold evening for California. If it were warmer, Violet might get too close to him and notice how cold the air around him was. It took an insane amount of energy to stay visible for extended periods of time. It took even more if you wanted to touch a person. In the case of Vivien the latex suit did a good job of masking the cold. Here in the open he had no buffer, nothing to hide behind. Luckily Violet stopped where she was and kept a few feet between them.

"So, you live next door?" she asked.

"I do indeed," he said. Not caring to focus the conversation on himself, he steered her back to her own life. "I see you started school already."

She gave a forced laugh.

"What a shit hole," she said. "I can't believe the bitches that go there. You watch reality tv and think, _those people can't really be as dumb as that_, and then you go to a school like on tv and, surprise. They really are just ignorant little shits. All this fake culture stuff. They walk around like they have something to prove, something that makes them higher than me. I dare them to set one foot in Boston. They wouldn't last a day."

"They probably wouldn't. It's a sad fact of life," Tate shrugged. "Girls in general are really stupid."

Violet gave him an amused look and he blushed a bit.

"Well, only _some_ girls," he said. "You seem pretty cool."

This made Violet smile.

"Thanks," she finished her cigarette and stamped it out on the porch.

Tate was reminded how Moira would cringe at the thought of a cigarette burn on her freshly scrubbed hardwood, and it gave him a hint of satisfaction. It would give him great pleasure to see her scrubbing this tomorrow.

"So," Violet continued, "why are you seeing my dad?"

Of course this would come up. He'd thought about different stories to tell, different excuses to use. Even now, with Violet looking him dead in the face, he still didn't know which one was better to use.

"Well," he started, looking off to the side. He was really trying to figure out the best way to gain her sympathy. That was his main objective. "My mother seems to think that I'm crazy. I guess she thinks I'm going to lose it and kill someone, or something like that."

"Kill somebody? That seems pretty drastic."

"What can I say?" he said. "Parents think what they want to think. I don't think any amount of convincing would make a woman as hard as my mother change her opinion. To her, I'm just the crazy son she'll never understand."

"You seem pretty sane to me," Violet folded her arms. "Why did you want to meet me out here, anyway? Was it to bump me off and prove your mother right? Are you going to murder me?"

He grinned, then shrugged.

"I dunno. You seemed like a cool person. I guess I kind of need a friend right now. It's rough at my house." He looked over to the white fence at the ugly house across the way. "It's been rough for a few years now. I really don't like being there."

"Well, you can hang out here if you want," Violet said.

The words caught him off guard. Those were the magic words. _Acceptance_. With it, he had an alibi, an explanation for why he was showing up around the house. That bitch Moira already had hers in the form of faked employment. Now, by sheer luck and his own roguish charm, he had his own excuse. Everything else that would happen was icing on the cake now.

"Really?" he said. "You'd do that? You don't eve know me."

She took a few more steps towards him.

"Of course I don't know you. Yet. This will give me a chance to get to know you better. Just, you know, try to lay low when my dad's around."

"I can do that," he said. "And maybe I can help you get even with those bitches at school. I know a few tricks. I guess I've had some practice."

"Cool," she smiled, then looked back towards the house. "Listen, I gotta be up early, so...will I see you tomorrow?" She started for the door.

He nodded.

"You can count on it."

He walked down the porch steps and headed off to the edge of the yard. Luckily the shadows closer to Constance's house gave him adequate coverage to go invisible. Violet hurried into the house and locked the door.

For the first time in his existence Tate felt warmth at the center of himself. He wasn't sure what it was, but he liked it.

This was the beginning of something new. It was also the start of a great complication.


	8. Static

Chapter Seven:

STATIC

Vivien was folding clothes in the laundry room when she heard Ben holler from down the hall.

"Viv!"

She folded the button-up shirt and dropped it in the wicker basket (only all-natural items for her in recent months - she hated the thought of synthetic detergents and bleach. Bleach, she was convinced, would be outlawed someday since it was so destructive to the environment) and she started for the doorway.

"Vivien!"

She found him seated in his study, surrounded by numerous master degrees nailed to the walls, and he was hunched over on the leather armchair with a Sony sound recorder in his hand. When she spoke up she saw that his features were creased with concern and his mouth slightly agape.

"What is it?" she said.

"Come and listen to this," he said and held the recorder out to her. She almost thought she saw his hand tremble slightly as she took it tentatively from him.

"How do I turn it on - "

" - The circular button, there...you got it."

When she held the speaker up to her ear she heard that the recording was apparently a therapy session between her husband and one of his patients because that was Ben's voice asking questions.

"Are you really supposed to be letting me hear this? Isn't there some doctor-patient confidentiality - "

"No, no - just listen for a minute."

She put the device back up to her ear. There it was, her husband's voice again. But then when it came time for the patient to answer, things got creepy.

"Do you hear it?" Ben asked.

She looked up at him and frowned.

"What is that?" she asked.

"It sounds like static. Some sort of feedback, I don't know."

This was a side of Ben she hadn't seen in a long time. He looked worried, frightened, even. His face was a few shades paler than normal and tiny beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.

She listened to the recording a little more. It sounded like white noise and in the background there was a faint, nearly inaudible sound of a boy's voice. The voice seemed far off, like it was in the distance. The strange thing was, the static only surged when the patient spoke, and the static rolled up and down like the volume was constantly fluctuating.

"What is this?" she asked again and held the recorder back out to Ben.

"It's an interview I did this afternoon."

He took the recorder and turned it off.

"With who?" she moved to the lounge and sat on the edge, the smell of the new leather wafting around her.

"Tate Langdon," he said. "The boy from next door."

She blinked.

"Well, is it some sort of trick? I mean, could he have had a scrambler or something?"

"I doubt it. If he did, then why didn't everything I said get scrambled?"

Vivien shrugged.

"It's spooky," she said.

Ben chewed his lower lip a moment and then looked up at her.

"I'm going to report him."

"What do you mean? To who?"

"He goes to school with Violet," he sat up and laced his fingers together. "I caught him in her room the other day."

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" she frowned. Ben had a horrible habit of not letting her know things concerning Violet, and it bothered her. It was usually crucial things that a woman like she would know how to handle. Men seemed to have a need to be in control.

"I didn't think it was a big deal."

"Oh, don't tell me that," she said. "It had to be a big deal if you didn't tell me about it."

"I already spoke to her, and to Tate. She knows she's not to see that boy again. He's dangerous."

"Dangerous? How so?"

"The boy talked about his dreams of shooting up the school." Ben swallowed and she saw the severity on his face. It stunned her. It usually took a lot to really shake Ben up. "He said he kills the ones he likes."

"You mean like Columbine? Could he be a freak like one of those murderers?"

"Those boys weren't freaks."

"What are you talking about? Of course they were! They murdered their classmates in broad daylight!"

"Those boys were the targets of extreme bullying. Not everyone can handle their own emotions without becoming physically violent. You should know." He brought a hand up to his left shoulder.

She rolled her eyes. Back when Ben thought it was okay to have an affair with one of his students she'd came home early with groceries. It was then, in their home in Boston, that she caught him screwing Hayden. She'd had a kitchen knife in her hand that day (in case there was an intruder, and indeed, there was) and she made sure that Ben would regret what he did. For some reason, that day, as she walked down the stairs, she couldn't get those words out of her mind: _You're gonna regret it. You're gonna regret it._

She blinked.

"So, what do you have to do?"

He got to his feet.

"First I'm going to alert the superintendent over at the school. Then I'm going to tell his mother that I think he's a threat. She'll have to watch him closely, of course."

"There's only so much you can do," she said, staring him dead in the eyes. "As a parent, I mean. There's only so much control you have over your children before they do things of their own accord. I mean, look at Violet."

Ben nodded and walked over to his desk where he positioned the sound recorder on the corner.

"That's the last part. I don't want Violet seeing that boy any more. She is forbidden to see him at all."

"Even at school?" Vivien didn't want to say anything, but, she highly doubted Ben would have any influence over their daughter. Like she said, if Violet wanted to do something bad enough, there was nothing she or Ben could do to stop her.

"Especially at school. I don't want to get that phone call saying the boy's brought a rifle to school and she's one of the casualties."

He made as if to leave the room, as if that ended the discussion, but then he stopped as she went to follow him out.

"Another thing," his voice was softer. He didn't meet her eyes, rather, looked down at the floor as he spoke. "I may need to go to Boston for a few days. For a client."

She nodded.

"Okay, that's fine."

"There aren't exactly people lining up at the door for a psychiatrist."

Again, she nodded.

"Totally fine. Maybe it will give me a chance to catch up with Violet. Some girl time, you know?"

Ben nodded.

"Good."

He left her alone in the room. She followed him out shortly after.


	9. Liar

Chapter Eight:

LIAR

There were many things that Hayden really liked about Ben Harmon. She liked the fact that he was an older man - not incredibly old, but just old enough that he was very attractive, in the same way that an eligible Victorian woman would find herself honored to attach herself to an established man such as he. She liked the way he always smelled of Diesel cologne at every moment of the day (she knew this from experience). She liked that he was married and had a career - _two_ careers, if you counted his short stint as a Professor back when she was merely entertaining the idea of being intimate with him. The marriage part was a sick twist in her own mind, she thought. It made Ben hard-to-get and, as she found, equally hard to figure out.

She also liked that he was standing before her now.

It was all working out.

Ben, timid as always, simply stood there in the doorway of her apartment's bedroom. There was nothing left to do but coax the Ben she grew to admire out of his seemingly impenetrable shell.

"Hi, Ben," she said, a smile spread wide beneath her heavily made-up lashes. Her hair, never capable of doing anything fancy, hung between her ears like a curtain. "You remembered my room number."

"Of course," he said. "Should I come in?"

"You should," she cleared the way for him and they went into the living room. "We have a lot to talk about."

He nodded. She noticed that he looked very pale, so in an attempt to lighten the mood she slumped on the couch and drew her stockinged feet beneath her knees.

"Don't look so shocked, Ben," she said.

"I don't know how else I should look," he replied. "Is it true? You're not lying to me?"

"Oh no, it's true. It must have happened the last time we were together. The time we got caught."

"How far along are you, then?" he brought a hand up to his mouth.

She feigned a thoughtful expression then replied, "That was four months ago, so, I'd say a little over four months, just to be safe."

"Shit," he said.

Immediately she took offense, stood up on the couch and did what she did best: intimidate.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she glared at him. "Aren't you happy?"

"Happy? Why in the world would you think this would make me happy, Hayden?"

She crossed her arms.

"It's no secret that Vivien can't have kids now."

Ben winced at his wife's name. Ooh, she'd struck a nerve.

"Yes, Ben, I can say her name. Vivien -"

"That's enough. I don't know what you want, but if you need someone to pay for the disposal -"

"Oh, Ben," she reached out and took his hand. "Oh Ben, Ben, Ben. Silly me for thinking that you could be optimistic. No, I'm not going to kill my baby. Oh no. I'm going to raise it."

There, she felt it. His pulse quickened, and she squeezed his hands harder.

"And you are going to help me raise this child. My little angel. Maybe he'll have your eyes. I'd like that."

Ben finally took a seat beside her and she took this as his approval. She draped an arm across his chest and played with his shirt collar.

"I hope you know," he said, stone faced, "I have no money."

"What are you talking about?" she asked. "You just bought a mansion. You can't have _no money_."

"How much do you think a home like that costs, huh? A damn outrageous amount. I don't even want to think about taxes."

"Then why did you buy it? Hm? You had a beautiful house here in Boston."

She looked into his eyes, but he looked away. She knew the answer. He moved into that mansion to get away from her. He moved all the way to the opposite end of the country just to get away from her. But that was all coming to an end, whether he liked it or not.

"I bought the house because they gave me a discount. That's how I could afford it. And I borrowed some money from Derek."

"Ooh," she sat up. "A discount? For what? Bad piping?"

"No," Ben swallowed. "The owners before us died in the house."

"Now _that_ sounds like my kind of house." She grinned. "I love the macabre. You do too, if I remember correctly. All those late-night horror marathons before test day." She nestled her head against his shoulder. "I hope there's more of those soon. No, I _know_ there will be more of those soon."

He looked down at her, surprise (and fear) in his eyes.

"Because, Ben, I'm moving into a house down the street from you. And you're paying for the entire thing."


End file.
